


Emblem of a Living Oath

by Catharticism



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dishonored AU, Implied/Referenced Torture, One Shot, no beta we die like men, there's kris/marth and kris/katarina if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catharticism/pseuds/Catharticism
Summary: Kris' life ends and begins as she helplessly witnesses King Marth's body fall to the floor, lifeless. The Watcher is very, very curious indeed.(A oneshot FE12 Dishonored!AU)





	Emblem of a Living Oath

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for a rape mention that's mentioned but never carrried out or threatened  
> Kris is female  
> both the Watcher and the Foreigner are nonbinary if that's not clear enough hahaha
> 
> Most of the Watcher's dialogue is ripped straight from Dishonored's Outsider from D1 lol

Kris’ life fell apart the moment she saw Marth and Caeda’s blood flow out like a river beneath their bodies.

She felt cold. Numb. It seeped deep into her bones as she helplessly looked at the hooded figure across from her, holding what looked like pure air in their hand.

It’s simple, really, what she did next. It’s only natural.

She leapt towards them, the hooded figure she knew very well as the Foreigner of Archanea, and even as they twist the air around them with magic that’s not of the elements nor dark nor light, she’s able to cut away at least a corner of their coat, a pretentious white and gold thing that floated in the wind, but then they’re gone. The Foreigner and their Summoned were gone.

She didn’t spare a moment and practically collapsed to the ground as she tried to assess the situation, see if she can still save the lives of her lieges, even when there’s so much, too much blood on the tiled marble floor, even with Queen Caeda’s lifeless eyes, even with a trail of blood leaving Marth’s lips as he mouthed something. Maybe he did actually speak, Kris didn’t know.

She can’t hear anything other than her rapidly beating heart and the blood roaring in her ears.

As the light leaves Marth’s sky-blue eyes, she kneels there in stunned silence, her blade cast carelessly aside her, hands covered with the blood of royalty.

She… she…

“What happened here?!”

She could hear voices growing louder as she tried to assess just _what went wrong_. Why were there no guards around? Why, how were they alone? She’s the best swordswoman in the entire continent, _how did everything go wrong_?

“—proof of her guilt; she won’t even respond!”

Only then did she register the swords around her, the astonished look in her platoon’s eyes. Did they see the magical assassins? They had to, didn’t they? Katarina, Luke, Rody, tiny Ryan, and they all looked horrified at her.

She tried to open her mouth, to say something, anything, except blackness and pain greeted her next moments.

The next six months passed by miserably. Kris’ jail cell was dark and damp, with rats scuttling across here and there, as people she remembered but hardly recognized anymore dragged her in and out of the interrogation room, urging yet not quite _begging_ for her to sign the confession. Fresh scars littered her across her whole body, from mystery alchemical solutions to clean cuts across her arms and legs. The whip lashings on her back still stung against the threadbare cloth of the same shirt she wore since the beginning of her incarceration, and the healing skin from burning-hot rods looked disgusting to her eyes. The torturer broke her jaw and nose too many times, and the same with her fingers; it hurts to move her hands. She’s bruised too, some newer ones a dark purple and black, while the older ones have healed to a sickly yellow and green.

She’s tired. She’s so, so tired, but Kris would rather die than falsely confess to killing her liege and his beloved.

Her liege. Marth. King Marth.

He’s dead now. Truly, really, very much dead and gone, and the memory of him bleeding out his life in her arms still haunts her in both her waking hours and her sleep.

She supposed she should be grateful that no one has tried to rape her yet, or that her twin brother is conspicuously missing. The guards stationed near her gossip that perhaps Chris was involved in the plot as well but that he’s now left her dry, which couldn’t be farther than the truth—he loved Marth and Caeda just as much as she did. She can only hope that he’s staying safe, that he kept his head down and not causing trouble for himself.

She can’t escape. None of the guards here recognize her, and of course they won’t give an iota of respect to her, not when she killed the oft-sung prince of peace.

The only thing she can do to pass the time, at the end, is to hone her body and keep it in shape. Stretching to keep herself limber, training to never forget how to dance in a fight, going over routines and reps of exercises in hopes to tire herself out to sleep.

She’ll die here, she knows that for sure, so she might as well die with some manner of dignity.

She was attempting to sleep, at best only able to nod away listlessly when the sounds of voices approached towards her. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, looking out from the bars of her cell.

It’s Katarina. Sweet, little Katarina, her stature almost as short as the pink bob of her hair. From her, Kris expected her disappointment, or perhaps look betrayed. Hells, she might even pity her.

And yet, her eyes displayed only determination.

“Leave us,” she told the guards, and although her voice was small and tinny they did as told, until they were alone, save but the torchlight.

It was quiet between them, unbearably quiet.

“I d—”

“I know.”

Kris was silenced with that phrase, and she didn’t realize she was standing up and pressing at the bars until she collapsed onto the ground in front of her. Gods, she must look like a mess now, doesn’t she? “Don’t taunt me with a truth you don’t believe in,” she whispered.

“I know you too well to think for a second that you assassinated our… former liege. It’s just that…”

Soft-hearted, kind Katarina, who preferred dipping her head instead of poking out for trouble. Kris can’t fault her for that, can’t fault her best friend for her true nature that people, including her, thought of as cowardice. Katarina, however, can bear to have a bit of a stiffer backbone, at least.

“Don’t. No one’s at fault except for the Foreigner. Now tell me, why _are_ you here?”

A sad smile graced Katarina’s lips, small and pretty just like the rest of her, although for what Kris just can’t figure it out.

And then, she brought out a key, and fit it into the lock, and Kris thought her eyes would fall out from how wide she made them as the iron barred door creaked open, and her tactician-turned-savior stretched out her hand to them. “Come on, we don’t have much time! Ryan and Luke are doing their best to distract everyone else while I get you to Rody. You have allies that believe in you, trust me in that at least! I can ex—“

Kris didn’t need any more convincing, and she certainly still trusted her platoon with every bit of her life, and eagerly took her hand, except she nearly fell over. Katarina doesn’t have much in physical strength, and she can tell how much she’d struggling to keep the former Captain of the Royal Guard upright. She steadied herself soon enough, even while swaying a bit in place, and began to walk towards the door. Katarina said something, probably a protest if Kris can hear past the ringing in her ears, but Kris waved whatever it was away and trekked on forward, forcing her to keep pace and also keep her steady.

She’s frustrated with her weakness, incredibly so, but what can she do about it? Malnutrition, atrophying muscles, hours of abuse and torture, all made for a deadly concoction that lead to a fragile body ready to give out at anything stronger than a pinch on the arm.

Katarina used the secret tunnels and servant paths, pathways that Kris can recognize and remember like the back of her hand. She’s never been happier to see Rody, his brown hair and warm, brown eyes like a blessing gift sent down from the heavens, and she all but collapsed into his arms.

“Captain, Sir. It’s good to see you back.”

She croaked out a broken chuckle onto his shoulder and let him carry her bridal-style after a quick look-over, more than happy to rely on her friends.

Friends. _Her_ friends. She still has those, it seems.

The walls has ears, she knows, and so she understands the temporary silence as they carried on the rest of the way to a discrete opening. Horses already awaited them, one on its lonesome and another pulling a cart, and that’s where the two laid down Kris, just as two other sets of footsteps approached them. Kris, out of habit, made for her sword that wasn’t there, but Katarina’s touch stayed her hand, and stoic Kris who rarely expressed emotion outwardly thought she could cry out of relief when she saw Ryan’s small form and Luke’s boisterous face enter her view. Luke victoriously pumped his fists in the air, but thankfully had the foresight to not shout like he usually did while Ryan ran into a full-body hug with Kris, squeezing so hard that she thought she heard her ribs crack.

“Come on, let’s go!”

Luke didn’t need to say that twice; Rody jumped onto the horse that was to pull the cart, now covered with a raised tarp, courtesy of Ryan’s quick work, keeping Kris hidden inside camouflaged amongst rucksacks of various unnamed knickknacks. Katarina kept her company in there, attending carefully to fresh wounds and old ones, which meant that Ryan rode with Luke.

Smart. Ryan can see dangers a mile away, Rody’s level-headedness will keep them safe, and Luke is a surprisingly good liar if he puffed up his chest and said just enough truth to make the lie believable while Katarina and Kris’ more known faces are kept hidden.

Knowing herself to be in good hands, despite the rocking cart and the bumpy dirt road, Kris promptly passed out.

_“Hello, Kris. Your life has taken a turn, has it not?”_

_She opened her eyes and was greeted with… an infinite plain. There’s rolling golden grass and golden light everywhere as a cool wind cut through the warm air and grazed the tips of those stalks, although there was no sun to be seen. The sky’s blue is too close to that of a sea’s, and she jumped as a dragon brushed down, the wingtips nearly lobbing her head off before it took to the skies again, but more importantly…_

_A figure cloaked in simple green floated in front of her. Yes._ Floated _._

_Great. Her platoonmates broke her out of jail and she had the audacity to die on them._

_The figure laughed, their eyes hidden by the shadow of their hood, but both laugh and smile felt too unnatural to her, its sound making shivers travel slowly down her back. “No, you’re not dead. That’d be such a shameful end to what is but the rising action of a new story. A king and his queen dead, blood on your hands, but you know the traitor isn’t you. In the following days you will play a pivotal role in what is to come.”_

_Oh no. Worse than death— a monologuer._

_“For this, I have chosen you and drawn you into the Country. I am the Watcher, and this is my Mark.”_

_Kris hissed as her the back of her left hand burned and she brought it up just in time to see a tattoo with some arcane rune burned into her hand, until the pain ceased with a shocking burst of cold, leaving her skin alone. She traced the insignia with her other hand, fingers gliding over the lines and swirls._

_She looked up when the Watcher spoke again. “There are forces In the world and beyond the world, greater than the mundane magic mortal men engage with on a daily basis, and now these forces will serve your will. Use this new-found power, my gift to you. Come find me.”_

_They faded into nothing—no, they faded into a dissipating cloud of smoke and magic beyond mortal ken, and the world fell upside down and right-side up. Nausea arose in her throat and she held back her bile, closing her eyes until her body stopped protesting and her ears stopped popping._

_The ground was still coated with golden grain and more vibrant grasses, but it’s now fragmented, shattered and scarred across that expanse of blue that was once the sky above her. Below her? The dragons pretended it was nothing, as if this otherworldly place was always this way, and for the first time they looked peaceful and calm, not like the feral, crazed beasts that wandered Dolhr’s barren wastelands._

_The Country— the famed afterlife. No one can agree on any single aspect of the Country, where all of the known world resides, except for one thing: it is a pastoral wasteland where spirits either pass by on their lonesome or fade peacefully into nothing. No one mentioned that it could break apart like this, that it could tear itself asunder._

_Moreover, she’s heard… rumors about the Marked. They employ magic beyond mere elements and light and dark. They occupy the dark and shadowy corners of the world, all driven mad by their devotion to the Watcher. They commit all manners of crimes and malignant evil, a particularly sharp thorn in the sides of those who worshipped the Divine Dragon Naga._

_And the Watcher. Little is known about them, save that they whisper in the ears of those willing to hear, and that they are not kind nor good._

_She just saw them, face to face, and they gave her a gift she never wanted and a task she has no interest in. However, when she tried to pinch herself awake, nothing happened. The pinch wasn’t even painful, not the usual lingering sting that would take place with an ordinary pinch. It seems that she’s effectively stuck here now, until she finds the Watcher. But what, exactly, did they give her?_

_Her left hand felt energized, buzzing with a pent-up energy that lead her to forming a fist. The tattoo glowed a brilliant turquoise._

_There wasn’t a truly clear way to explain what happened next. She took a look at the nearest island. Aimed._ Used.

_The Country warped around her, the sounds of roaring dragons and whistling grass pitching several octaves down, and the next thing Kris knew, she was standing on the island. Her head didn’t feel dizzy in the slightest; in fact, the strange magic settled comfortably inside her, as if it belonged, as if it was always meant to be, and that_ terrified _her._

_There’s a clear path, at least, into a familiar gondola with familiar shapes, and her breath hitched in her throat as she warped closer to it, leaping across islands that floated over an infinite, blue abyss until she reached King Marth’s falling form, Queen Caeda’s body lying dead next to him._

_Her eyes saw red and water, maybe red water, until she recognized it as enraged tears, the first she has ever shed. And, well, she is alone, with no one to judge her or scrutinize her._

_She screamed into the void, and the void screamed back with a dragon’s roar, and she wasn’t sure which was more deafening to her ears._

_She kept warping. Scenes playing out, faces of men she both recognized and didn’t, Marth’s death playing over and over again until the Watcher materialized again in front of her. Their smile was still there, and she wanted to slap—no, cut out that smug thing from their face._

_“In the coming days, as you have witnessed, you will experience many trials, Kris. Seek out the ancient runes bearing my Mark, in the lonely places of the world and at shrines raised in my name. These runes will grant you powers beyond those of other men. To help you find these runes, I give you this: the Emblem of a living oath.” They reached out their hand, palm up, and Kris cautiously did the same, and a red gem fashioned like a brooch or a clasp apparated and rested on her hand. Its weight was small. It almost—_

_“With this Emblem, you will hear many secrets, and it will guide you to my runes, no matter how they may be hidden. Listen to the Emblem now, and find another rune.”_

_The Watcher disappeared once again into smoke, leaving Kris alone with some impulsive response ready to be released from her throat. It died, however._

_It’s just her and this Emblem now._

_She rubbed over its smooth surface, and it took every bit of self-control to not throw herself nor the Emblem off into the in-between spaces of the Country._

_“This place is the end of all things. And the beginning.”_

_The end of life as Kris knew it, and the beginning of something else._

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know what Dishonored is, a shitty summary:  
> MC's wife gets murdered and his kid gets kidnapped and he swears revenge with the help of some shady dudes, a nice boatman, all the best girls, and a really gay eldritch black magic god (if that can ever be called help).
> 
> I just wanted to get this plot bunny out of the way so I can work on my actual longfic and maybe some sekiro shit on the side idk Julyan makes bombass art  
> if ur interested ur more than welcome to make ur own dude, i'd love to see dishonored/fe works even tho im not too invested in the latter anymore
> 
> also KrisMar is the ultimate FE OTP, i will not be taking criticism at this time


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